Making a painting is like raising a child. As a painter I always have the best intentions for my creation. I wish them to go into the world with a strong moral character, to be noticed, to make a difference. However, as they grow, as a child grows, they quickly develop a mind of their own. Spawned in a romance between the grotesque and the innocent, they are found parading in a barren landscape, adorned in red and white striped muumuus, blue faced, and late for dinner. They grow to be naked runaway hobos performing allegoric symphonies on toy piano and kazoo. These paintings are a collision of fantasy and autobiography, in a world wheezing with wonder and cruelty.